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Foyle: The German woman was protected by influential friends, and it's still possible that it was those friends that wanted her dead. She was as fit as you or me, and yet the family doctor lied about an angina condition on her medical report to prevent her from being interned.

Asst. Commissioner Summers: So you've arrested him, this doctor?

Foyle: No, because he was only a part of it.

Asst. Commissioner Summers: Are you suggesting there was a conspiracy?

Foyle: I'm suggesting that Henry Beaumont, her husband, is rich and influential, and would find it very easy to expect favors. Greta Beaumont went before a tribunal last February. She was given C-registration, and was classified as a refugee from Nazi oppression. Greta Anna Hauptmann - her maiden name - isn't exactly a classic refugee. For starters, she still has two brothers in Germany. One of them served under von Falkenhorst in Norway, and the other is a ranking officer in the Abwehr in Berlin, which should have led to her being interned immediately, and the committee that gave her C-registration must have been blind, idiotic, corrupt, or all three. But, of course, you know all this, don't you? Because you were the chairman of the committee.

Asst. Commissioner Summers: [nervous sniff] Foyle, we can work this out...

Foyle: Well, I don't think so.

Samantha Stewart: Can I ask you something? Were you tempted to let him go? I mean, even for a moment.

Foyle: Yes, I was. Yeah. I mean, hanging him is probably not going to do anybody much good, and I suppose he had a point.

Samantha Stewart: But...?

Foyle: I'm a policeman, I'm here to do a job, it's as simple as that. If I start bending the rules, I might as well pack it in.

Samantha Stewart: Yes, but... she was a German.

Foyle: Well, that doesn't make any difference at all. She's a human being, and she was murdered. Murder is murder. You stop believing that, and we might as well not be fighting the war... because you end up like the Nazis.

Samantha Stewart: [in bed during an air raid] Can't we ask Jerry to come back later?

[A firefighter has been caught looting bombed-out houses.]

Foyle: You know, I sometimes wonder why I do this job. And then I come across someone like you. I mean, we're living in such evil times, when the whole world seems to be sinking into some sort of mire. And as if Hitler wasn't enough, we've got the likes of you, who capitalize on other people's misery, who hurt them, make things even worse for them when they're at their weakest. And it's with the likes of you that this mire begins. And it's some small consolation to know that I've helped to clean up just a little bit of it.

Bishop: I'm very sorry I can't let you arrest him.

Foyle: Why not?

Bishop: Because of fifty ships, Mr. Foyle. Fifty outdated, rusting ships. Ships with appalling armament and protection. Ships we may never actually use.

Foyle: American ships?

Bishop: Yes. We need the Americans, Mr. Foyle. They're the best friends we have. If we cannot persuade them to provide us with food, ammunition, and all the rest, we will not survive.

Howard Paige: You sound like a sore loser. You know what the French say? "C'est la guerre."

Foyle: Precisely, Mr. Paige. "It's the war." And no war has lasted forever, and neither will this one. A year, maybe ten, but it will end. And when it does, Mr. Paige, you will still be a thief, a liar, and a murderer, and I will not have forgotten. And wherever you are, I will find you. You're not escaping justice, merely postponing it. Au revoir.

Sir Reginald Walker: Business is bigger than war .... War doesn't matter. You and I don't matter. Business will go on!

Foyle: Where's your wife?

Sir Reginald Walker: She's left me.

Foyle: Not much of a day for you, is it? Your wife, your son... your business.

Sir Reginald Walker: My business?

Foyle: [pointing at the golden box] Do you know what this is?

Sir Reginald Walker: It's a gift.

Foyle: But you know what it is?

Sir Reginald Walker: It's solid gold and it's a gift given to my company in recognition of successful trade relations.

Foyle: A gift from whom?

Sir Reginald Walker: The office for trade.

Foyle: The German office for trade?

Sir Reginald Walker: Yes.

Foyle: And you didn't disclose the theft of it because...?

Sir Reginald Walker: Because my son did not declare it, he smuggled it into this country from Switzerland, a few weeks ago.

Foyle: Well, you're right. It is solid gold, hasn't been declared, certainly came to the country recently and might well have come from the office for trade, Sir Reginald. But it first of all came through a Department of the Third Reich known as the Vermögensverkehrsstelle, the Property Transfer Office, which deals with property acquired by the Nazis. This is a Jewish artifact, made in Frankfurt in the 18th century by Jeremiah Sobel, and until six weeks ago, it belonged to a family called the Rothenbergs, who used it as a prayer book holder. The family, all four of them, were shot and their home looted by the Nazis. And once it's generally known that you're a beneficiary of this Nazi "reallocation" of property, how long do you think you and your company have got? [he picks up his hat and turns to leave] One or two things bigger than business, wouldn't you say?

Sir Reginald Walker: ...Aren't you going to arrest me?

Foyle: Well, on behalf of a very dear friend of mine, I'd say it's no longer necessary.

[Foyle has just caught a German assassin in a POW camp, masquerading as another prisoner.]

Major Cornwall: I've always tried to see the best in people, and we've had good results with the prisoners. Quite a number have already opened up to us. You see, I spent a year at university in Heidelberg before the war. I always found the Germans to be a civilized and gracious race.

Foyle: I was in a police team that played in Germany in '36. The German team that met us were very smart, hospitable, very gracious, very civilized. Wonderful night - they wined and dined us, and we all left the Bierkeller at dawn, and we staggered onto the pitch later that day badly hung over. But the German team that ran on to play us were eleven totally different men, who'd been in bed before 10: 00, not touched a drop, and we got a complete stuffing. They used different rules. But if we don't want to lose this war, I think first of all, we've even got to be sure about what game they're playing. And you're right... it's not "cricket."